“What are you talking about?” I square my shoulders, refusing to shrink under his intimidating glare.
“Don’t play stupid with me, Rylee. We both know what I’m talking about.” His tone eases, but his expression doesn’t.
“I don’t have time for this,” I tell him. “I have to get to class.” I try to move as the final bell sounds, but Zayden blocks my path.
I look to my left and then to my right, ensuring that we’re alone and Oliver isn’t lurking somewhere close by, ready to deliver his next round of humiliation.
“If you’re referring to what happened Saturday, I didn’t tell him anything,” I answer after a long pause. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to tell.” This seems to get his attention and he steps closer, backing me into the lockers behind me.
“Nothing to tell, huh?” he grunts, leaning in until his face is so close to mine I can feel his warm breath on my face. “That’s not the impression I got when my mouth was on you, tasting your sweet skin.” I jump when the back of his hand grazes my collarbone.
“What do you want, Zayden?” I try to keep my voice even, despite the fact that my insides are trembling.
“I just wanted to make sure we understood each other, which it seems we do.” He takes a full step back, and I swear I nearly protest the loss.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Now that you’ve cleared that up—is there anything else you need? Or do you want to play on my emotions with another sob story and see how far you can take this little game of yours?”
“Come again?” His gaze narrows, and I can tell I’ve struck a nerve.
“I’m just saying, if you want to fuck with me, there are more creative ways you can do it.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” His expression softens slightly.
“I don’t think—I know. So whatever it is you’re playing at, whatever you and Oliver have cooked up, I’m not falling for it. Guess you two will have to go back to the drawing board.”
“You think Oliver had something to do with me kissing you?” He closes in on me again, dipping down to meet my eyes. I swallow, not able to push any words out past the sudden lump in my throat. “Let me make one thing clear, me kissing you had nothing to do with Oliver. Maybe I kissed you because I wanted to.”
“Yeah, because you like me so much.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.
“I don’t like you, Rylee.” If words could slice flesh, I’d be bleeding out all over the floor right now. It’s not like I didn’t already know he hated me but hearing him say as much stings a hell of a lot more than it should.
“Well I don’t like you either.” It’s a lame rebuttal, but the only thing I can come up with on the spot.
Before I even know what’s happening, Zayden’s lips crash down onto mine. I can’t think, can’t breathe, or even move. I’m lost to the sensation—to the way his mouth moves skillfully against mine.
He grabs both of my hands and pins them to the locker behind me—my books crashing to the floor as his tongue slides past the seam of my lips and dips into my mouth. A full body tremor runs through me. My body arches into him, aching for his touch.
I can’t explain my reaction to him—hell, I don’t even understand it myself. But it’s like my body is acting on its own accord—betraying the voice in my head screaming for it to stop.
Zayden kisses me hard, unforgiving, almost punishing, and I drink every ounce of it in—not able to get enough. I hate myself for how badly I want this—for how badly I want him.
The kiss ends as abruptly as it began, and my eyes flutter open to find very heated ocean blue eyes staring back at me.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I’m not even sure what I would say if I could find words. My body feels like I just touched a live wire—the aftereffects of the shock are still coursing through me.
“Seems like you like me just fine,” Zayden scoffs, his hard mask slipping bac
k into place.
As if this were the reaction I needed from him to snap out of it, I take a deep breath and step toward him.
“Do not ever fucking kiss me again.” I stab at his chest with my pointer finger.
“And what are you going to do if I do?” He seems amused by my reaction, which only pisses me off more. If I had any doubt he was playing some kind of game, I don’t anymore.
“Trust me when I say, you don’t want to find out.” With that, I snag my books off the floor and spin around, stomping into class without so much as a backward glance.